


To define a Monster

by Sijglind



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sijglind/pseuds/Sijglind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are monsters out there.<br/>You know, because mum told you bedtime stories about them. Not the kid’s book kind, with monsters lurking underneath your bed, grabbing at your ankles at night or hissing in your ear while you sleep, but they are there, similar, yet different. They come through the windows or kick in the doors, and they’re hungry for your blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To define a Monster

 

## mon·ster [mon-ster]

_noun_

  1. a legendary animal combining features of animal and human form or having the forms of various animals in combination, as a centaur, griffin, or sphinx.
  2. any creature so ugly or monstrous as to frighten people.
  3. any animal or human grotesquely deviating from the normal shape, behavior, or character.
  4. a person who excites horror by wickedness, cruelty, etc.
  5. any animal or thing huge in size.



 

* * *

 

There are monsters out there.

You know, because mum told you bedtime stories about them. Not the kid's book kind, with monsters lurking underneath your bed, grabbing at your ankles at night or hissing in your ear while you sleep, but they are there, similar, yet different. They come through the windows or kick in the doors, and they're hungry for your blood.

You know because there was one time, when you were six, when they came, three men, breaking into your house, cursing and grinning and taunting you while they tried to grab your arms or neck or ankles and you were _so scared_. You cried but did what mum had always told you to. You ran as fast as you could to her room and locked the door, shoved everything in front of it that you could reach and wasn't too heavy and then you waited for the banging of their fists against the wood to stop, waited until the sound of fighting ended and curses turned to cut-off sounds of pain. You waited until you heard mum's voice through the door, telling you _it's alright now, honey, they can't hurt you anymore_.

You and mum packed your bags that night and left before the sun was even up.

So, yeah, you know about the monsters, know they're after you. Why, you aren't sure, but you guess it's to satisfy some perverse urges they have. They see you as prey, maybe, want bigger game than what you can find in the woods. Something smarter, a challenge.

That's why mum taught you how to hunt. She showed you all the monster's weak spots, how to take them down easily, how to tend to your wounds if they've gotten too close. You grew up traveling the country, only settling down long enough for you to go to school for a bit until the monsters came and you had to run again. You've had many names, barely remember all of them, but mum said like that it would be less easy for the monsters to find you. Somehow they managed anyway.

So one day, they got your mother. She told you to run and you did. Haven't seen her since. You know what that means. It's been years already and you kept on living, traveled a lot, never stayed in one place, always one step ahead of the monsters. Maybe it became too easy, and that's why you became careless.

That's why you're coughing up your own blood now. That's why the empty living room of the house you've been squatting in is painted in red now. That's why you're on the floor and your whole body feels like it's been set on fire. Even breathing hurts. You know it's over. After years of running, you've been stopped, ground into the floor by the two monsters standing over you, looking down at you like your life is some inconvenience to them and they have better things to do than killing you.

You laugh and it sounds too shrill, hysteric. Well, fuck that.

You look at the monsters, and you know what they are. Mum's told you about them, because even for monsters they're special. You know they killed your Uncle Bill. Never met the guy, but mum told you of him, her brother, and her voice always cracked when she did. Said he was so nice, didn't deserve what they did to him.

They travel the country, like you. Leave corpses behind and the others only talk in hushed voices about them. When they come for you, there's no point in running, they'll get you anyway. They're ruthless. They're killers. They're monsters.

They're brothers.

You grin, and your blood tastes old and rotten on your tongue. It's sticking to your teeth and clogging your mouth, and you try spitting it at the younger one, the taller one with the slanted hazel eyes, when he leans down to inspect you like you're some kind of interesting bug. He draws back before it hits him and the other kicks at your ribs, the tip of his boots digging painfully into your side. There's an audible crack, but you can't even feel the pain anymore. You still gasp and bite out a wet, “fuck you,” that's accompanied by a spray of red saliva.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says and his grin is snide. “Any last words?”

You smirk, show off your teeth and lick the blood off them, revel the grimace of disgust on the younger one's face.

“Yeah,” you say. “Go to Hell, Winchester.”


End file.
